


Speed-Dial

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Jealous Steve, M/M, Oblivious Peter, abuse of parenthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve spends time with the newest member of the Avenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speed-Dial

**Speed-dial**

**Summary:** In which Steve spends time with the newest member of the Avengers.

 **Disclaimer(s):** I own neither the Avengers nor the Spider-Man franchises! If I did, everything would be chaos. Also, this is just a short thing-a-ma-jiggle that I didn't really have the gall to complete.

            Steve Rogers liked to think he was doing a splendid job with adjusting to the new timeframe he was thrust into. The 21st century was both nothing and everything he imagined it to be, and he was glad to share it with his friends. Cellular phones were still alien to him, but with Tony's (albeit snarky) guidance, he was starting to understand the greatness of speed-dial. Though, it felt a bit odd having to number the Avengers members with a single number: Under what requirements does he number them? Would it hurt Natasha's feelings if he put Clint's number before hers? (He put Natasha at 3, before Clint, who was 5. Better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes.) And, more importantly: Should he number Peter or Fury as number 1?

            The blond started talking to Peter almost immediately. As soon as the youth was recruited, Steve took it upon himself to show him the ropes. He might have had to get past the initial hero worship, which took nearly two weeks before the brunet stopped stuttering and blushing madly, but he thought of it as time well-spent. Initially, he was intending to merely introduce the teenager before letting him test the waters with the others on his own. (Peter was horrifically well-acquainted with Clint, and was starting to sink into the world of science with both Bruce and Tony.) However, he found himself enjoying the youth's company, whether it was spent in a companionable silence or in lighthearted banter. In truth, Steve was furtively delighted that the brunet spent the most time with him: he still remembered Tony trying to steal Peter away with promises of 'explosions and tons of science', so he had put Tony as 9 on speed-dial as petty retaliation.

            Sometimes, when Steve was bent over a sketch in his notebook, Peter would slink up beside him and plop down with a ridiculously thick textbook about God-knows-what. Other times, they would take walks throughout the maze of New York for food or just plain window shopping. He remembers that one time at an art shop, owned by an eccentric girl with blue hair, when he was approached and asked if he was interested in modeling for decent cash. All of the blood in his body rushed to his face and he sputtered, causing Peter to turn a shade darker and blush to the tips of his ears. The youth became flustered at the slightest things, and if Steve himself wasn't busy coughing his lungs up, he would have thought it adorable.

            "I mean, you've got great shape," she was saying, eyeing him up and down with a nod of approval. Peter, the traitor, tried to escape by speeding farther down the narrow isle; luckily (or unluckily, depending on perspective), Steve managed to snag the elbow of Peter's jacket. "Just a couple hours, nude, of course, and it'd be great for the both of us. Money for you, practice for me."

            The brunet shifted uneasily behind him, sniffling awkwardly into his fist before Steve politely declined. "I have to, um, eat lunch with my friend." Lying was never his forte, and he's pretty sure he saw his companion wince at the awful attempt because it was _4_. Nobody eats lunch at 4. Nonetheless, the girl didn't seem to notice.

            "That's a shame," Sally, as her nametag read, wasn't deterred, "Are you two...? Because if you don't want to do it alone, it's alright if your buddy over there joined. I don't judge. Better for me, actually."

            Somehow, Peter managed to turn an even brighter red. He stammered as he hid behind Steve, who was doing no better at concealing his embarrassment, "No, I mean, we really have to-- we're not-- we have to go. Eat, that is. He's not-- I mean, I don't think he's-- I mean, _I'm_ \--" The brunet abruptly clamped his mouth shut and wiggled out of Steve's hold. "I'll just-- I'll wait outside. For you. If you want me to. Yeah, I'll just...go." He left with his head ducked and his messy hair brushing over his eyes.

            Steve left apologetically, practically running out of the shop when Sally winked at him and commented, "He's cute. I can see why you like him. I can see why he likes _you_ ; don't worry, though, I'm not coming on to you. I'm gay myself. Got my own little cutie in the back room, sleeping like a doll. We've been together for a couple years, now." He realized he never corrected the owner until he caught up with Peter, who was pretending (and failing) to look busy on his phone outside the shop.

            The two were much too flustered from the one experience to return to the shop and spent the rest of the day bouncing from one store to another, from clothing stores-- Peter pranced around in women's clothing, adorned with a ridiculous sun hat, aviators, and three scarves wrapped around his neck-- to other art stores, where Steve bought some charcoal and a new notebook. The duo spent the day sharing laughter, causing the hours to fly by. Before he knew it, the time read 8:34, so he picked out an Italian place for dinner and enjoyed his pasta leisurely while discussing whatever came to mind.

            He ignored the whispering voice at the back of his mind that tried to change his relationship with Peter into something _different_ \-- something _more_. Friendship was good, and Steve wasn't intent on changing anything. ('We spend so much time together. We're practically an item.' The blond disregarded the thought.) He set Peter's number to 4 and kept Fury at 1 as an attempt to convince himself. Of what? He refused to think about it.

 

**Contacts**

**B:** Bruce Banner (7)

 **C:** Clint Barton (5)

 **N:** Natasha Romanoff (3)

       Nick Fury (1)

 **P:** Peter Parker (4)

 **S:** Sam Wilson (6)

 **T:** Tony Stark (9)

 **V:** Voicemail (2)

 

            "You cradle-robber," Tony announced drunkenly, sprawled across the long couch with a beer in hand. It was times like these that Steve thoroughly regretted yielding to the genius's ideas. "Don't think I don't know! Because I do. I'm a fucking genius; I know _everything_." Clint was lying across Natasha's lap, taking long swigs of beer at a time. Everyone, save for Peter-- he was still underage and, according to Tony, unaware of the joys of getting smashed-- was either thoroughly sloshed or mildly tipsy. Thor brought his own Asgardian alcohol-- which Steve only took a couple sips and he was already feeling a bit tingly-- and was drunkenly draped over Peter, who was cradling a can of Coke between long fingers.

            It was a Saturday, and the billionaire was brooding because Pepper was on a (business) trip to Morocco as Tony's stand-in. She really was an amazing woman: Steve couldn't imagine being near Tony for more than a couple weeks, let alone a couple _years_. Not because he didn't _like_ him, but just because the brunet was practically a child in the skin of a man. Whining and being a brat seemed to be one of Tony's overarching characteristics. Anyhow, the afternoon was spent hiding large buckets of ice-cream in various parts of the house (since every room had a freezer for some reason) from the genius. Hours passed by with the Avengers-- who, Steve would like to point out, were fully-functioning adults-- rushing past each other, ice-cream tubs in tow. Tony shuffled angrily on their tails ("Give me the _fucking_ ice-cream or I'll fire you! I'll buy the Avengers and fire each of you individually-- _Clint_ , don't you dare! That caramel is my favorite!"). Peter was outside, casually sprawled across the 'A' of the Avengers Tower, reading another one of his textbooks with a spoon in his mouth and a bowl of ice-cream lying innocently beside him. In the end, Tony decided it necessary to throw a 'Let's Get Smashed' gathering as 'revenge' for stealing his secret stash of frozen delights ("Feel the fucking hangover tomorrow morning," the philanthropist was already slurring. "Even you, Jarvis. _Especially_ you.").

            "What?" Steve replied dumbly, watching Thor whisper something into Peter's ear before laughing boisterously. The brunet smiled a bit before beckoning the god closer and giggling a response. "Tony, you're drunk." _And I'm jealous, apparently_.

            "So's your face. He's, what, _twelve_. Peter! Tell Cap how old you are," the man looked awfully smug, and it made the blond want to suffocate him with one of the discarded pillows lying abandoned on the floor. His fingers twitched. "Peter! You're not even _drunk_ , you don't get an excuse for ignoring me."

            "Seventeen! I'm seventeen. Why?" the youth was gasping with laughter as Thor whispered something into his ear again. He jabbed the god in the rib mirthfully as the latter enveloped one of his arms around Peter's shoulders. Steve took another sip of his Asgardian beverage as he (enviously) observed Peter getting comfortable in the embrace. Of course, the _one time_ Thor decided to grace the Avengers with his appearance, he's already cozy with the newest member. Nonetheless, Steve was above jealousy, right? "Oh my _God_ , Thor! That's _gross_!" Or not. Steve took another sip.

            "Aye, but it is true! Nobody stood within a foot of me! I must have bathed no more than four times to get rid of the stench," Steve decided to take the smaller victories in life: At least no one was paying attention to the genius's rambles. He didn't need the Avengers in on his secret, if it could even be called a secret at this point. If Tony's self-centered mind could grasp the blond's situation, then everyone else probably knew long before. Silently, Steve thanked Peter's thick-headedness because he seemed to be unaware of the blond's advances. Steve didn't even know he was _making_ advances, but if his actions were caught under Tony's radar (which picked up sex and adolescent crushes like a dog sniffing for meat), it probably meant he was. "I would like to take you to Asgard, young Peter. My friends would be filled with mirth when they meet you."

            'Oh, _when_ they meet him,' Steve took a considerably longer sip of his beverage, allowing the buzzed sensation to travel to the tips of his fingers. Tomorrow morning would not be a good one. 'Not _if_ , but _when_. Thanks for that, Thor. You just _had_ to come along and steal months of work from right under my nose. You're with that scientist... Foster, was it? And you're not even queer-- I mean, gay.' It hit Steve hard, as though he ran into a brick wall (that was always there but never recognized). If Steve was as attuned with his emotions as he thought he was, and if he was indeed attracted to Peter, then that means _he's_ gay. But then, if his memory served him correctly, he also liked Peggy. 'This is a terrible time to have a self-realization moment.'

            " _Oh_ , I'd like that," the teenager was nodding as he tipped his head back for the last drop of Coke to cascade down his throat. Steve watched the boy's Adams apple bob and stole another sip of his own drink to disguise the sudden dryness of his esophagus. Clint was lazily glancing between Steve and Peter, who was gesturing wildly to the god with a bright smile on his face while talking about the wonders of multiple universes. Thor's eyes twinkled.

            "Cap, stop eye-fucking Peter," the bowman smirked, downing another gulp of beer. "It's not appropriate. Either show him the powers of your pelvic thrusts or--" Natasha smacked his forehead with the butt of her beer with upturned lips before shooting a wink at Steve and eyeing Peter expectantly.

            The teenager continued to stay oblivious to all conversations besides his own, which Steve both loved and hated-- or rather, mildly less-loved-- him for. Honestly, there had to be some sort of award for this level of unawareness. For better or worse, Thor wasn't as thick-headed as Peter and caught on as soon as Natasha icily glared at him. Then again, maybe it was the trademarked glare that gave him in.

            "Ah, young Peter, I must," the god mulled over his words for a couple minutes, flicking his gaze from Natasha to Steve uncertainly, "not lean on you anymore?" The assassin narrowed her eyes even more, digging even deeper into the back of Peter's fluffy head and Thor's uncertain eyes. "I mean, I must not _talk_ to you anymore!" A look of hurt replaced the youth's previous happiness, but soon morphed into that of curiosity after the god quickly added: "Because you must speak with Lady Natasha! We shall talk tomorrow morning about Asgard."

            "Oh, yeah, you must be tired," Peter reasoned softly, nodding as he helped Thor slide off of him. "Why don't you go to my room? I took the guest room, so you don't really have a bed anymore." Natasha looked exasperated at the idiocy portrayed by such a bright individual as Peter. Steve couldn't help but agree, although his heart was pounding vigorously in the confines of his ribcage. A smug look flit through Clint as he joined the conversation with smooth transition.

            " _Yes_ , you must be tired, Steve-- I mean, Thor," he agreed vigorously, nodding madly while grinning like a fool. "Sleep in Peter's room. He can share with Steve. Team building, you know? Also, if you find any porn in there, tell me, okay buddy? I've been snooping for _days_ and there's _no way_ the only things he looks at are fucking biochemistry textbooks. Even all the _tabs_ on his fucking laptop open to biochemistry. _What kind of teenager_ \--" That earned the bowman another smack from Natasha and an awkward cough from Steve.

            "You snooped in my room?", said teenager gaped with a look a betrayal, " _You hacked into my laptop?_ "

            "Peter, why don't you go sit with Steve? It's Bruce's turn to bombard Thor with science. _Right_ , Bruce?" the unsaid threat didn't go unnoticed, and the scientist under scrutiny audibly gulped before nodding silently. A satisfied Natasha was a safe(r) Natasha. "Hurry up, boffins."

 

            It was two in the morning. Tony was at his prime, surrounded by beer bottles and continuing to clutch an empty one as though it was his lifeline, blabbering animatedly about robotics and Pepper's betrayal. Natasha had retreated to her room, leaving Clint sprawled across Bruce, who had moved from beside Thor, to argue with Tony (although they were talking about two completely different things. Tony with his robots and Clint with Natasha's propensity towards hiding his boxers). The god was laughing exuberantly at the telly, which was playing Tangled ("The princess wields the pan like a true warrior! Lady Sif would be pleased.").

            Peter was draped across Steve, who was torn between carrying the youth to bed or staying on the couch for another minute or two to watch him sleep (It didn't sound as questionable in his head). Steve had chosen the latter for the last thirty minutes, somehow remaining interested in the steady ups-and-downs of Peter's chest while carding his fingers through untamed hair. He supposed another minute like this wouldn't hurt.

 

**Contacts**

**B:** Bruce Banner (7)

 **C:** Clint Barton (5)

 **N:** Natasha Romanoff (3)

       Nick Fury (4)

 **P:** Peter Parker (1)

 **S:** Sam Wilson (6)

 **T:** Tony Stark (9)

 **V:** Voicemail (2)


End file.
